


Empty Rounds

by starrylitme



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Femdom, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love/Hate, Minor Violence, Sexual Abuse, Threats of Violence, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ve got spunk I still haven’t crushed under my heel. It’s infuriating. But admirable. So I’m going to reward you, Nagito. But not yet. Not until after one last game.”</p>
<p>Said game is a different, more twisted kind of Russian Roulette. Komaeda's not sure what he's expecting, but she's going to have a great time either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Rounds

**Author's Note:**

> "How else are you going to celebrate Komaeda's birthday?"
> 
> I'm finishing the other nsfw request from seven months ago.
> 
> "The JunKomaeda one with Russian Roulette-styled gun kink?"
> 
> Yeeeeeeeee.
> 
> Whew this one. Mind the warnings. I mean, considering it's Junko, none of them are surprising but still, mind them.

“Wow, Nagito! Another day and you still haven’t screamed! It’s a new record!”

Komaeda kept his gaze trained on the cold concrete ground, cold expression not even twitching at her cheerful exclamation. Humming, she cupped his chin between her fingers, tilting his head so that it’d be facing her. Dully, he looks into her eyes.

“Can I leave now?” He asks, blankly. “My wrists hurt. My back aches. I’m tired.”

“Oh you big baby,” she scoffed, but she does flicker her lit, smug blue eyes towards his tightly bound wrists, how his arms are forced upwards, his hands stiff and curled. So dirty like the rest of him. She actually does consider it so she could give him a bath—because the mars on his wrists were always such a pretty sight, such pretty purples and reds against white, and the dirt got in the way of that. His hair needed to be washed too, of course, and there were few things she adored less... But this wasn’t about her, was it? “I should reward you for lasting this long.”

Komaeda’s already unimpressed look darkened. “I have no interest in seeing any one of your disgusting pets. Didn’t you already let one of them have their way just a few days ago? Ah, was it a few days? A week? I wasn’t paying attention to you keeping count.”

“Nope! I’ve decided I’m not going to share you this time. Although...” Enoshima giggled, brushing her nose to his with a purr. “You say that, Nagito, but I know the faces you make. And how you cry out. Hell, remember when Nidai-kun...”

“And you enjoyed the display like you always do, _didn’t you_ , you rotten girl?” he sneered. “Even on an insipid face like mine, you get _sooo_ excited. You’re disgusting. You’re more disgusting than what you have them do to me.”

Even with him spitting at her, she remains close enough to practically taste those words. With a beam, she kisses him when he’s done, and pulls away with a laugh.

“A charmer as always, I see!” Enoshima pats his cheeks before pressing her palms into them, smushing his face as she cooed. “It’s reasons like these that I need my moments with you alone, you know. A girl needs to keep things to herself once in awhile! Some things are just too _embarrassing_ to share with others!”

Komaeda rolled his eyes hard. Then her nails dug in.

“There are some things so gross that even I can’t bear having the others see.” She goes on, much colder, much harsher in more of a jeer. “Especially when it comes to a rancid, soiled piece of shit like _you_ , Nagito. You really make me want to vomit sometimes, but you’re also just too much fun. You’re so pathetic it’s almost endearing.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response, instead remaining stubbornly silent. After a while, Enoshima chuckled lowly, digging the nails of her thumbs into the corners of his lips.

“Most people would have broke a long ass time ago,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “And you can still look me in the eyes with nothing short of disdain. You’ve got spunk I still haven’t crushed under my heel. It’s infuriating. But admirable. So I’m going to reward you, Nagito. But not yet. Not until after one last game.”

A smile breaking back across her lips, she nuzzled in close, tittering and practically trembling with excitement.

“Don’t worry,” Enoshima whispered against his despondent mouth, smile widening as she noted the flicker of interest and curiosity in his gaze. She then shoved him back, hard enough he grunted from the force of back scraping against the wall while she only laughed. “You’re going to _love_ this, sweetheart.”

* * *

Just the way the sheen of the gun was reflected back to her in large pools of gray-green was worth having to tolerate Mukuro’s stupid, annoyingly uncertain face when she asked for the pistol.  _“Oh **Junko-chan** , I’m not sure, I mean—”_

She hadn’t asked for her input. It seriously aggravated her that even now, her supposedly older sister just didn’t get it sometimes.

Nagito was the same sometimes, honestly, but he was way more entertaining. There’s no way she’d get this kind of intrigue from Mukuro. Especially when she clicked the safety off, and he settled just the slightest bit from where he had sat ramrod straight once she returned with the gun.

“Surely,” and a sick little smile spreads across his lips, “Surely you’re not so out of your mind that you want to play _Russian Roulette_ with someone like me.”

 “Actually I was planning on blowing your brains out. Pew, pew.” She jerks the gun a couple of times, playfully wondering, “I’ve always wanted to see what that decaying brain of yours looked like. Matsuda-kun never did show me a picture when I asked. So you can yell at him since it’s his fault.”

“Oh, really?” His smile didn’t drop, but his amused tone did turn more sardonic. “What a shame. I have no intention of dying by your hand, you see. So we may be at a bit of a disagreement on this decision of yours.”

“Hmm?” The gun pointed towards him, and he didn’t falter the slightest. “Tell me, what’s going to stop me from pulling this trigger?”

“A meteorite, maybe?” Nagito suggests, serenely. “Maybe an earthquake. Do you think the ceiling in this wretched building is close to falling apart? Ah, but, the likeliest option...is that the gun just won’t fire.”

Enoshima, humming, pulls the trigger.

There is only a click and nothing else.

“You were right,” she said. “Impressive, Nagito.”

“You didn’t fully load it.” He stated, and slowly, that smile slipped from his face. “So I was right from the start.”

She smirks.

“What the hell is your ploy?” he demanded harshly. “Something tells me it’s not just you pointing that thing back and forth until you get bored. Where’s the fun in something as _pointless_ as that?”

“You know me so well, Nagito,” Enoshima gushed, giggling and twirling the gun in her fingers. “Well, I’m not just going to be _pointing_ it. No, I have something much more interesting in mind. And won’t it be fun?”

Without missing a beat, she jabbed him with the muzzle hard enough to bruise, making him flinch. And then she felt how he stilled as she teasingly ran it down over his ribs, tracing them through the thin white fabric of his shirt before raising it back up to stroke his face with a string of cold metallic kisses against his jaw.

Nagito stared back, and with realization dawning on his face, he sighed.

“Really?” he asked, weakly. “ _That’s_ your idea of a reward? This is a lame joke and you know it.”

“Oh this isn’t the reward,” she explained matter-of-factly with a hum. “This is just a game. A last bit of fun. You’ll like it. I’m not even going to bother resetting it. Let the excitement build. Raise the stakes. That’s good for you, isn’t it?”

“I fail to see the fun.”

Enoshima tuts. “Nagito, learn to be more open-minded. A mind like yours really should stay sharp if you can help it! For as long as you can and as much as you can, I guess.”

Komaeda, unconvinced, just looked away and let his eyes fall shut. He could’ve fallen asleep. That would have pissed her off enough to beat him over the head with the gun. But he wouldn’t, she knew. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to.

She pecks his cheek affectionately, nuzzling the other with the gun before slowly, deliberately, lowering it to slip under his shirt. He doesn’t even shiver as the muzzle ghosted over his hip, traced the bone jutting out, but she practically tastes the catch of his breath when she moves to press it to his groin.

With a smirk against his lips, she presses hard, practically grinding it against him, and she swallows his groan.

“Hey what’s it like?” she asks cheekily as she pulls back but doesn’t cease her motions. Komaeda’s expression is considerably more strained, his grimace deepening as she goes on, chirping, “Is it uncomfortable? Would you prefer my hand? I can switch, if you like.”

He scowls back, making her giggle. “You _do_ prefer this, don’t you? You’ve always preferred this. What a loser you are. Acting like you hate everyone else just as much as they hate you—you’re so pathetic, Nagito.”

Komaeda doesn’t dignify that with a response but she knows she’s hit a nerve and it makes her all the giddier, all the more eager to jab him with the gun, joyful as he flinched.

“It’s easier, isn’t it, finding love in other things rather than other people,” she mouths at his neck, and with a couple of fingers so she could still hold onto that gun, she pulled up the edge of his shirt to draw her attentions to his stomach and abdomen. With a hum, she lowered to press kisses along his waistband, tracing that same line with the muzzle as her smirk. “You’re probably telling yourself it’s about the same, right? Maybe you just don’t care. Maybe you’re already desperate enough that it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t.” He bites out, head low with long hanging tresses of white obscuring whatever expression he might have been making. “Because this kind of thing is worthless either way.”

“Aw, don’t say that!” Enoshima teased him, cheekily, flicking the button of his pants open and pressing the zipper down with her thumb. “Your body may be a rotting sack of skin and bones but it’s still **_yours_**. You’re still going to respond to the _sensations_. I mean, you are still human after all.”

Komaeda said nothing. She was already tugging his pants down, humming all the while.

“There’s only so much you can ignore in what’s happening to you. It’s no good to pretend otherwise, Nagito. It’s not healthy. A little despair can do you some good, you know.”

Maybe, just maybe, he lightly shook his head. Or maybe it was just an overall tremor.

She didn’t care to know. She was more fixated on nudging him with the gun—through only the soft, fine fabric of his boxers. Keeping him steady— _maybe_ —with a hand on his bare thigh, she watched him respond. This time for sure, she knew that quiver in his hips and groin was most certainly there.

She does glance at Komaeda’s face, seeking his still shut eyes through his fringe, long white lashes twitching just a bit, her _delighting_ in the hint of downcast that immediately hardened into defiance as though he felt her stare.

“Come on,” she coaxes, and with the gun she strokes him like a lover would. With all the careful, deliberate, experienced motions of someone who already knew this body well. “Come on, Nagito. Relax. It’s not going to hurt you. It loves you like I do.”

Komaeda doesn’t relax, but it still works out the way she wants. He still gets hard under her, and the tension builds all so much easier—when she finally pulls the trigger, there’s a lovely wonderful flinch for just a brief second.

She would have loved to draw it out more before that point—but for now, this was enough to carry on with.

She kisses him, smiling against his lips, murmuring, “Hey, shouldn’t you return the favor to your new lover?”

Komaeda glares. But when she removes herself to press the tip of the gun to the seam of his mouth, it doesn’t take much to push it through. He doesn’t choke—though he does gag a little with how she shoves it down his throat and pulls back only to thrust back in with little care to be gentle as she does so. She giggles, and drags the gun along his tongue and scraping his teeth against metal.

“You have to get it wet,” she tells him. “Nice and wet. Otherwise...”

Eyes narrowing, her light tone dropped into a low, matter-of-fact drone. “It’s going to hurt later. You should be grateful that I’d rather that not be the case. So, come on.”

He rolled his eyes at her, and she recognized that downturned frown in that gaze—it was obvious even with his lips still wrapped around the muzzle. He still wasn’t making any move to moisten it like she suggested.

“I know you know how to.” Junko says, cold and disdainful. “I’ve seen how you suck guys off. Just imagine it’s one of those if it’s easier that way.”

There was a clack of teeth against metal—maybe that how he was going to click his tongue at her.

“Do it.” She ordered. Then she softens her tone sweetly. “Please? Just think about much easier it’ll be if you do! Come on, Nagito, if _you_ don’t take care of yourself—who will?”

He growls—it sounds more like a gurgle. She can’t help but giggle.

“Pwease?” she asks cutely, batting her eyelashes. She shoves the gun in roughly, making him gag. She then roughly fucks his throat with it, punctuating each thrust with, “Please, please, **_please_**?”

He’s sputtering and hacking as she pulls the gun out, metal still connected to his reddened lips via strands of saliva. Spittle trickled down his chin, and he heaved to get some air in, to hopefully soothe his aching throat.

She lets him breathe. Then she gently presses the gun back through his panting mouth. He stills. She sees that—behind those disheveled, ivory strands—his eyes are shut.

“Fine.” Enoshima huffs and pulls the trigger.

There’s a click. He doesn’t flinch this time. She yanks the gun from his mouth and bites her nails into his hip.

“Have it your way.” She says, cheerfully and cruelly. He turns away from him, grimace twisting, and she trails a long line along his jaw to his ear with her tongue because taking the lobe between her teeth. She moans into his ear, just to spite him, and giggles as she begins to yank his boxers off.

She can see the slickness of the gun, from metal and spit, in the low light if she glances towards where she’s holding it out. She presses a kiss to the hollow below Komaeda’s ear, and then licks the gun herself. It’s just metal and spit—there’s no real taste, but she shudders all the same as she sucks it off.

It gives her the opportunity to use both her hands in stripping that last bit of cover off him, and he kicks—but she tosses his boxers aside and kicks him hard in the stomach.

As Komaeda yelps and coughs from the blow, she pulls the gun from her mouth. The muzzle drips, and she’s trembling with giddiness and glee. Her smile grows and grows as she settles between his legs, and hums.

“You’re still hard.”

Komaeda bristles.

“You’re probably as wet as that gun.” Through his teeth, he hisses. “Just get it _over_ with.”

“Really? You wouldn’t want to be loved properly?” she asks with an innocent tilt of her head, eyes wide and inquisitive before they turn pitying. “Oh, you poor thing. The despair is coming off you in waves.”

“Shut up,” he spits, but there’s a hysterical edge to it. “Just hurry. Fuck me and get it **_over_** with.”

She can’t really say no to that. Still, she gives a serene smile, and she’s nice and careful when pulling up one of his legs, when pressing the tip of the gun to his puckered entrance. It’s delightful that his length does wilt, just a bit—that fine hair rose on its end and she could feel the goosebumps on his skin.

Komaeda had his stare focused upwards, on nothing in particular. She saw how he bit his lip and—

The way he grunted, and bit down hard enough to draw blood as she shoved that gun inside him was positively _delicious_.

“God,” she breathes, and pulls it out to push back in. Her body feels hot, almost like she’s fucking him herself. He sucks in a shuddering breath, and she swoops in to lick the blood from his lower lip, to drag his lips into a biting, bruising kiss as she thrusts the gun in and out of him. She’s moaning, tasting iron and sweet, stupidly stubborn Nagito—and she can’t help but laugh as she _devours_ him—“You’re so good like this. You’re _so_ good like this. No wonder I kept your sorry ass alive for this long.”

He doesn’t return her kiss—but he doesn’t fight it either, just like how he’s just so pliant when being fucked. How good this worthless, demented piece of trash has gotten at being a _whore_.

“I want you to come,” Enoshima says, lowly and with no room to argue as she angles her thrusts. He seizes up; she goes on, “You’re going to fucking cream yourself over this gun. Do you understand me?”

Komaeda groans, and she feels like she can _feel_ him clench around the metal and—“God, you’re so disgusting. Is this really what you find _arousing_?”

“You’re hard.” And she’s wet. She’s so, _so_ wet. Her laughter is unbidden and hysterical. “Look at yourself—look at this! Your body’s just taking it all! All the way to the handle!”

Her hand, gripping the gun tight, brushes against his skin. She fucks and _fucks_.

“And to think.”

She’s focused on everything at the moment—like all five senses are kicked into despairing overdrive.

“Before I got my hands on you...”

The pale skin at her teeth and fingertips, all for her to rub against like a spoilt cat if she so desired. Jutted out bones, and a delicate flush—the shivering. Oh, he was _shivering_. Breathing getting harsh and audible, and how he threw his head back, inadvertently making it so _easy_ to ravish his thin neck in licks, bites, and kisses. She presses herself against him—feeling his warmth, his pounding heartbeat, his complete and total submission and _despair_.

Preciously, there were tears welling up in his eyes. He always got so teary in the midst of sex. It was adorable.

She can’t help but think about what this would be like with someone who actually gave a damn about this fucked up little basket case. With someone who fucked him because they loved him—whatever the hell that meant. Maybe someone who actually wanted him to enjoy himself, to want this, to...to...

It’s not like she didn’t want those things.

It’d make this so, so much better. So much more beautiful—so much more despairing!

God, it’s just hilarious. Hot, but so fucking funny, she just—

She couldn’t get enough. Especially when Komaeda reached his peak, and bit down on his tongue hard to prevent crying out. Especially when the end of her cardigan and the whole front of her skirt got dirtied with his seed—and especially in the click that seemed to still the world around them when she pulled the trigger.

She smirked as he released the breath he was holding. As he panted, and then...

“Are... Are we done here?”

“You did well,” she said, lightly and laughingly. “You know what? You’re more than deserving of that reward now.”

“H...Huh...” he groaned. His head was down, gaze unfocused. Almost like he was in a daze.

She clicked her tongue at him in annoyance. “You’ll really like this one, Nagito. Swear it.”

His stare does flicker upwards, to her. She pulls the gun out of him, and, from the hidden holster against her thigh, she pulls out a knife. Smile and eyes never leaving his own, even as those eyes widened, she cuts through the rope binding his wrists.

When he’s free, and rubbing numb fingers at thin, bruised wrists, she tosses that knife aside with a clatter against concrete. Then, so very slowly and carefully, she offers him the gun. It’s still stick—and it’s also stained with his blood, it seemed.

She hadn’t even noticed he was bleeding. But neither of them really cared.

No, she just focused on wrapping his cold fingers around the handle, and manipulating his grip and how he was holding it so that the weapon now pointed right at her heart.

Komaeda blinks hard and then...

“There’s two rounds—one loaded and the other not. Fifty-fifty shot. Those are some great odds, huh?” Grinning widely, she goes on. “That lame luck of yours is really the only thing you trust anymore, right? We’re putting it to the test for your reward.”

His grip shook, and his features were slack with shock. Then, so very slowly, his lips curled into a smile.

“Is it really loaded at all?” Komaeda asks.

“With one bullet? Yep, yep!” Enoshima nods. “But you’ll have to take my word for it. Are you gonna _chance_ it?”

He giggles, softly like it hurt to, and then, “Why not? If it is—if it is, then you’re going to be...”

His grip tightens. It’s like he’s found a lifeline. That’s adorable.

“Hey,” she says, whispers like it’s a lover’s secret, “How about you fuck me with it while you pull? Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Wouldn’t that be great if that’s how you killed me with all I’ve done to you? Poetic justice, I think.”

She lifts her skirt, exposing her slick thighs and dampened panties. Komaeda’s smile falls into cold disgust. She just laughs at him.

“C’mon,” she urges. “I wanna know how it feels too. Don’t be so greedy, Nagito.”

She places a gentle hand on his grip, directing the point of the gun downward.

“It’s only fair,” Enoshima says, oh so sweet and oh so sickening. “It’s only fair if you return the favor—but if it’s too difficult, well! I’ll be extra, _extra_ nice and just guide you like I’ve been doing...”

And Komaeda shoves against her hand. It’s a fast motion, one that could have only lasted a few seconds at most—in which he yanked his grip on the gun upwards. And the very second—the very, very second he had the gun pointed to right between her eyes—he pulled the trigger.

He got nothing more than a click. But with that click, it was like everything froze. Even she was still, with her blank stare fixed on him, her lips ajar. It would have been such a stupid expression if the damn thing actually went off.

“It wasn’t loaded at all,” Komaeda finally said, after a while. His voice was steady, but she saw how his hands around the handle shook oh so slightly. “Of course not. Even your recklessness has its limits, huh? I’m not surprised. I’m... I’m not surprised at all...”

He dropped his hands so that they thudded against his lap. He still held the gun. He was now shaking as he stared down at it, edge of his smile twitching and eyes blown wide before there was a shimmer in gray-green irises as he shut them tight and sighed.

Enoshima shut her mouth, and with a deepened frown, she sighed as well.

“Wow,” she said flatly, utterly unimpressed. “You really are utterly hopeless. Even your talent is unbelievably worthless. How the hell did you last this long? What are you even _here_ for?”

He didn’t answer. She went on, voice rising with her tone harshening.

“You really are just a waste of space, you know that? All you are is _waste_. Waste of time, waste of space, waste of effort—I’ve stepped on roaches that serve more use overall than you do. You keep spouting off all this sickening nonsense about ‘hope’ and ‘luck’ like they’re the only things you got going for you—but even _you_ don’t believe the bullshit you spew on a day to day basis. They’re nothing—all you’ve ever had is nothing. Why don’t you die, huh? Why don’t you kill yourself right here, right now?”

Then, even as she remained unmoved, he pulled the gun back up. Just in one hand now—his left to be specific—and he pressed the muzzle to his temple. Without averting his cold, sharp gaze from her own, he pulls the trigger.

Another click.

Enoshima breaks face and laughs.

Komaeda threw the worthless, unloaded gun to the side as she did. He was utterly annoyed as he pushed himself up. His legs shook, just a bit as he stood. He wiped a slick trail of blood off the inside of his thigh.

She didn’t stop laughing as he went and gathered his pants and boxers, slipping both back on. He did wince a bit, but managed all the same.

“You’re adorable,” Enoshima giggles, wiping a tear from her eye. “And really something else sometimes. I’m still not taking back what I said, of course.”

He huffed and didn’t dignify her with an answer. That’s just fine. Because, after all...

“Don’t think I didn’t see the despair in your eyes when you pointed that gun at your head, Nagito.” Her smile widens. “I did. It was _great_.”

She stands as well, groaning at the stains on her clothes. “But man, you really make a mess, don’t you? How do you think Mikan-chan will feel when she sees this? God, I can’t begin to imagine.”

Tsumiki already had a list of horrifying methods of murdering him when she has the chance. As far as he’s concerned, she never will.

Enoshima, ugly as she is, seems to know that much. With a smile and a beckoning of her hand, she begins to head out.

“Come on, Nagito.”

The only reason he follows her is because there’s only one exit.


End file.
